


once bitten, twice shy

by silvyri



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Between Peter and Wade, Derogatory Language, Dubious Consent, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loss of Virginity, M/M, More Hurt Than Comfort, Mysterio is a huge fucking asshole in this, Non-consensual use of someone’s image in a sexual sense, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter consents to sex under false pretenses, Peter is sixteen when he and Quentin sleep together, Pre-Slash, Spoilers for Far From Home, Tagging Non-Con to be safe, Victim Blaming, When Deadpool finds out someone is gonna catch hands, by the victim, dub-con, imagery of sex used against someone, like seriously I’m sorry i did this, might even class as non-con?, mostly all hurt, no explicit sex, older man taking advantage of a less experienced younger man, that’s the dubcon tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22283944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvyri/pseuds/silvyri
Summary: It’s hard not to be infatuated with Quentin Beck. He’s tall, handsome, kind, charismatic, a hero. He looks at Peter like Peter’s worth looking at.Peter doesn’t just give Mysterio Mr Stark’s glasses, he also gives him his heart. In the aftermath, Wade helps him begin to pick up the pieces.Major spoilers for Far From Home.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 40
Kudos: 387





	once bitten, twice shy

**Author's Note:**

> When I was watching Far From Home the second time in theatres I couldn’t not think about this. It fits almost too well. I wrote this in the week after and it’s just kind of been sitting in my google docs for all this time. I kind of wanted to write more but my enthusiasm for writing has been at an all time low and I was hoping posting something might lift my mood.
> 
> Please read the warnings, but do take note that there are spoilers for the fic in it.
> 
> Warnings/Triggers: Peter is sixteen and consents to sex with Beck thinking that Beck’s a good guy; he’s very much not. Beck is taking advantage. Peter victim blames himself afterwards. Beck uses images of him and Peter having sex without Peter’s consent and with intention to hurt. There is no explicit sex, just some heavy imagery. 
> 
> Thank you sofreakinmanyfandoms for beta-ing!

Looking out over the city lights of Prague, with Beck warm at his side, Peter feels strangely calm despite what he’s about to face. 

“I should go figure out how to warn my friends,” he says, but he doesn’t move. The night breeze ruffles through his hair, his clothes, cool in his lungs as he breathes in.

“How’re you gonna do it?” Beck asks. He shifts a little, the metal links on his suit clinking quietly.

Peter shrugs and glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Dunno. I’ll think of something, I guess. Got to. I can’t just... leave them out there when I know what’s gonna happen.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Beck says with a grin. “You’re a smart kid, Peter.”

And yeah, Peter knows that. He’s been told that again and again; that he’s smart, that he has talent, that he’ll go far in life if only he applies himself. But there’s something about Beck, about how tall and charismatic he is, about how he looks at Peter like he sees something worth seeing, that makes Peter’s cheeks go pink.

He clears his throat. “Thanks. Um, I really should...go.”

“Yeah,” Beck agrees. Peter turns to him, blinks when he finds the man closer than he'd thought he was. 

“Thanks for, you know, coming up and talking to me. I kinda really needed it.”

Beck grins, that easy smile of his making something in Peter’s stomach tighten. 

“No problem,” he says, and Peter can’t help glancing at his lips. Beck catches him looking, and his smile widens. Peter feels like he goes red from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. 

“Um–” He squeaks, starting to get up. Oh god this is so – _fuck_ , why is he like this? This is so embarrassing. It’s so obvious; why is he so _obvious_? His sneakers slip on the edge of the building in his haste, and he catches himself, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. Oh god, he’s a _disaster._

“Peter.” A hand over his, heavy and warm, makes him freeze. Peter looks down at it, at how much bigger it is compared to his, the thick fingers and tanner skin. His stomach twists. 

“Um,” he says again, softer this time, shakier.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Beck says with a laugh. “It’s flattering. Good to know that I’ve still got it.”

But he’s not laughing _at_ Peter. Something in Peter settles at that, his shoulders uncoiling, a tentative smile growing on his lips. “I don’t think you ever didn’t have it,” he says, and he hopes it makes sense. God, Beck is really good looking; it’s doing weird things to Peter’s brain. Seeing him for the first time in the dark, damp tunnels, of Venice Peter had found it hard to stop looking at him. He’d hoped he hadn’t been as obvious as he thought he’d been, but apparently he’s not exactly subtle.

“Ha, thanks,” Beck chuckles. His hand is still warm over Peter’s, dry and reassuring. A thumb strokes over Peter’s skin, and Peter feels himself go warm again, looking down at it with wide eyes.

“You know,” Beck begins, and Peter watches as he lifts his other hand and reaches for him. Fingers brush a loose curl of hair behind Peter’s ear, and Peter finds himself holding his breath. “You’re a good-looking kid, Peter. You’re gonna break hearts when you’re older. Probably already breaking hearts now.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say to that. His mouth hangs open a little, and Beck looks at it with his dark blue eyes, his palm resting against the burning flush of Peter’s cheek. His wedding ring presses in, a cool reminder. 

Beck glances at it, and his face falls. “You should go,” he says, quietly. “It’s getting late.”

Something in Peter’s chest breaks a little. “Yeah,” he stammers, fumbling to get up, slipping out from under both of Beck’s hands. “Uh, see you– see you later.”

“Bye, kid.” Beck says, but he’s not looking at Peter; he’s looking out over the city, his face unreadable. Peter bites his lip and jumps off the roof, startling an elderly couple walking up the stairs. “ _Scusi!_ ” he yelps, and then frowns as he bounces down a couple of steps, “sorry, no, that’s Italian.”

He rounds a corner and presses his back up against the cold stone wall, breathing out slowly. His heart slows in his chest, and he looks up at the night sky.

“What just happened?” He whispers to himself, a niggling feeling starting to form somewhere in his middle. He pulls out his phone, unlocks it with his thumb, and navigates to his text messages, scrolling down to a familiar conversation.

It’s dated two weeks ago. The last message is three thumbs up emojis in a row, a reply to Peter promising that they’ll get tacos together when Wade gets back from a job in China and Peter gets back from his school trip. He doesn’t know why he feels uncomfortable in his stomach, a feeling that is something close to guilt. It’s not like he and Wade are a thing at all; Peter’s just got a crush, and sometimes he sees the man looking at him ( _maybe?)_ , and it’s not like Peter and Beck did _anything_ , either, but why does it feel a little like a betrayal?

Shaking his head, he puts his phone back in his pocket, and pulls out the E.D.I.T.H. glasses.

“E.D.I.T.H.?”

-

After the big showdown with the fire elemental, Peter finds himself sitting next to Beck again, slumped over the bar and staring down at his lemonade.

“You alright?” Beck asks, sounding concerned.

Peter glances up at him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Just, you know. Yeah.”

“Fury can be a bit of an asshole, can’t he?” Beck says, and Peter laughs a little wetly into his drink. Did Fury really need to chew him out like that?

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” he huffs. 

Beck shifts on his stool, turning to face Peter better. “Well, don’t listen to him. I think you did great. You’re doing great.”

“You think so?” Peter straightens up, something like hope warming in his chest. 

“Yeah, man. You were a great help out there. You handled yourself well.”

Peter smiles a little. “Thanks,” he says. “Sometimes I- oh, I dunno, it’s stupid.”

Beck shifts closer, his face earnest. “No, Peter, nothing you say can be stupid.”

That warm feeling grows a little more in Peter’s chest. “I just- sometimes I think, yes, this is what I’m meant to be doing. I mean, I have these powers, I should use them to help people, and I do enjoy doing it! But sometimes, I just, I want to be normal, do normal things, hang out with my friends, go on a school trip, do some sightseeing, without having to worry about big, angry elemental monsters coming out of nowhere! Shit, I sound like such a whiny teenager.” He sinks a little in his stool, shoulders drooping. Why is he saying this to a guy who just lost his entire world? _Damn it, Peter, good on you for being so self centred._

“Not at all,” Beck says, leaning closer on the bar, the green of his costume glinting in the dim light. “They’re normal things to want. Especially when you face dangers, like what you and I just did, a normal life sounds great, one without the weight of saving the world on your shoulders.”

“I just- I feel bad about it,” Peter mumbles, sighing. “I have a chance to do some good in the world, and I’m like this, moping about, whining. Mr. Stark would be so disappointed in me.”

“Don’t think like that,” Beck shakes his head. “Don’t think about what other people think of you, or what they want for you. Think about what _you_ want, Peter.”

“What I want?” Peter asks, frowning. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Beck’s brows draw down, and he covers Peter hand with his unconsciously. “Peter, of course it matters what you want.”

Peter’s stomach twists, and he looks down to where their hands are touching. Beck’s wedding ring is gone, and Peter’s heart starts to pound. 

“Peter,” Beck is saying. “What do _you_ want?”

“I don’t know,” Peter croaks. He looks up at Beck, eyes huge. He feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. “I don’t... I don’t know.”

Beck searches his face for something. His thumb, again, is drawing slow circles against the back of Peter’s hand. It sends shivers down Peter’s spine, excited, curious sparks igniting his nerve endings. 

It looks like Beck finds what he’s looking for. He stands up suddenly. “Come on.”

Peter almost falls off his bar stool, following him. “What? Where-?” Beck is still holding his hand.

“Back to mine. I think I can help you out,” Beck says, and Peter stops, unsure. Thinks about his school trip, his teachers and friends back at the hotel probably worried sick about him; thinks about his and Wade’s last conversation, weeks ago; thinks about Fury in his face, saying that he’s not ready; about Beck’s eyes on his mouth; about how he said that Peter should never apologise for being the smartest in the room.

He goes.

-

Beck’s place isn’t far. It’s a small room in a cosy hotel. At reception there’d only been a cat snoozing on the front desk, and a little lamp throwing warm shadows over the walls. 

Beck closes the door behind them and sheds his cape with a relieved sigh. He hangs it up on the back of the door and dumps his glass helmet on a side table as Peter carefully leaves his bag leaning up against a wall.

“You want a drink or something?” Beck asks, walking over to the small kitchenette.

“Um, no, I’m fine,” Peter says quietly, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He suddenly feels very lost. What is he doing here?

Beck pours himself something amber-coloured and takes a sip, leaning against the counter and looking at Peter. 

“Hey, come here,” Beck says. “You don’t have to look so scared.”

Peter swallows and steps forward. Beck smiles at him, puts his glass to the side, and settles his hands over Peter’s hips. The touch makes Peter tremble.

“Is this what you want?” Beck asks quietly. 

Peter watches his mouth move. “I–” he starts, and can’t continue. He’s not sure. Beck is– he’s nice, and handsome, and a hero. He makes Peter feel special, safe, comfortable; but he also makes him feel so– strange?

Beck pulls him closer and kisses him. He tastes like whiskey; Peter only knows that because he'd snuck a mouthful out of Uncle Ben's glass one night when he was younger and almost hacked up a lung coughing from the burn of it. 

Peter goes completely rigid, eyes huge. Beck pulls back and looks at him.

“Peter?” His thumbs are stroking over the material of Peter’s incognito suit, making Peter’s skin tingle. That was his first kiss. His first ever real kiss. A million thoughts go flying through his brain, some good and some scared, some excited, some confused, and it’s so overwhelming that Peter just makes himself stop thinking. 

Peter leans forward and kisses him.

-

Later, Peter’s lying naked in rumpled sheets, staring up at the ceiling. He’s sore and a little stunned. He thought he’d feel different, no longer being a virgin, but he mostly just feels the same. A little more knowledgeable, perhaps. 

Beck rolls over next to him, sitting up on the side of the bed, head in his hands. Frowning, Peter sits up as well, wincing at the ache between his legs, and touches Beck’s back. Beck strangely doesn’t have a lot of scars for a soldier from an alternate Earth; in the short time Peter has been Spider-Man, he’s managed to accumulate more. Peter figures that Beck’s just a better hero than he is. 

“Hey,” he says, “are you– are you okay?.

“God, you’re so fucking young,” Beck says. “What did I do to you?”

“You didn’t do anything to me I didn’t want. And I’m not that young, not really,” Peter says. Not anymore. “I’ve helped save the world, twice now. And I’ve been to space.”

Beck looks over his shoulder, a shaky smile on his lips. “Yeah, I guess you have.”

Peter clambers up to sit next to him, leaning his head on Beck’s shoulder. Something slips from the sheets at his movement, clattering to the floor. Peter blinks down at it.

It’s the case with the E.D.I.T.H. glasses.

Beck leans down and picks it up. “Is that–?”

“The E.D.I.T.H. glasses, yeah.” Peter says, taking it when Beck holds it out to him. They must’ve fallen out of his jacket pocket when they were, uh, getting undressed on the bed. The memory makes Peter’s cheeks flush.

“And you left them just lying around?” Beck says, incredulous.

Face now flushing with shame, Peter opens the case just to make sure they’re still in there. They are, thank god. “Um, yeah,” he says.

“Go on, try them on, let’s see,” Beck grins, turning on the bed to look at Peter properly. Peter slips them on, smiling shyly up at Beck through the blue lenses.

“How do I look?”

Beck’s eyes laugh. “Uh, can I tell the truth?”

Peter nods. “‘Course you can.”

“They look a little silly,” Beck confesses, looking apologetic.

“Oh,” Peter mumbles and slides them off. They do, don’t they? They were made for Tony Stark, by Tony Stark, after all. They definitely do not belong on his face. He looks down at them in his hands and then back up at Beck, an idea slowly forming in the back of his mind.

He holds them out. “You try them on.”

Beck rears back a little. “What? Peter, no.”

“Come on,” Peter beckons.

Beck shakes his head. “Stark gave them to you.”

“Yeah, and I’m just asking you to try them on!”

Beck looks down at them, then back up at Peter’s face. “...If you’re sure,” he says, and takes them carefully out of Peter’s hands.

They look good on him.

“They look good on you,” Peter says. With them on, Beck almost looks painfully like– no. Not going there.

Beck huffs a laugh and goes to take them off.

Peter holds out his hands, palms out. “No, no. I want you to keep them.”

Beck’s expression goes incredulous. “Peter, no way.”

“Mr. Stark entrusted them to me to give to someone who would do good with them,” Peter says. “It all makes sense now. I shouldn’t have them, I’m just sixteen. And sixteen year olds should not have control of an A.I. that has access to orbital defence systems.”

“Peter-” Beck tries, but Peter shakes his head, continuing.

“And I trust you! I know you’ll do good with them.” He looks at Beck, his eyes pleading.

Beck sighs. “If you’re really sure?”

“I’m sure,” Peter says. It feels like a weight off his shoulders. He’s never going to be able to be the next Tony Stark. But Beck, Beck definitely can. He already looks the part.

“...Thank you, Peter. I promise to use them well.” 

Peter grins. He takes the glasses and transfers ownership to one Quentin Beck, and then hands them back. “Welcome to the Avengers.”

Beck laughs and puts the glasses aside on the table. “Thanks for the welcome.” He turns back to Peter, looks at his mouth, his eyes trailing down Peter’s chin, the line of his neck and slope of his naked shoulder. His gaze darkens and he reaches out, pulling Peter close to him with two large hands around his waist. Peter tilts his head up for the kiss, and even though he’s sore and he really should get back to his class at the hotel, he lets Beck push him down into the sheets.

Head tipped back into the pillow, mouth dropped open and panting, Peter gasps out, “I really like you.”

Beck chuckles, leaning down from his position braced over Peter’s body, kissing him. His beard scrapes over Peter’s skin, rough. “I like you too, kid.”

-

Once back at the hotel, nobody seems too misbelieving when Peter lies and says he just got lost. Mr Harrington is just happy that he’s alive. Peter is bummed out when he learns the trip is over, and ends up moping outside MJ’s door. He wonders if he’ll be able to see Beck again before they leave. 

MJ’s door opens, and she blinks when she sees Peter standing out in the hallway. She’s still pulling on one of her shoes. She straightens up and smiles at him awkwardly. “Oh, hey. I was just gonna go out for a walk, see some stuff before we have to go. Wanna come?”

“You wanna go back out there after what just happened?” Peter asks, surprised.

“Yah,” MJ says, shrugging. “It’s all over now. Meet in the lobby in five?”

Peter blinks. “Ah, sure.”

-

Walking over the bridge in the middle of Prague, Peter feels like he’s made of air. The elementals are beaten, he and Beck totally slept together (and it was _awesome_ ), he did good by Mr. Stark, the world is safer; and he’s out at night in the middle of Europe. Sure, his school vacation is over, but Peter got _laid_. By a really cool guy. 

MJ glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Uh. You look really happy. I thought you’d be like, super bummed out that our trip is over.”

“I mean, it sucks, but I get it,” Peter says.

“Right,” MJ mutters. “Um, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” She sounds nervous. Well, as nervous as MJ can sound. Peter gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. Is this to do with her watching him sometimes?

They stop in the middle of the bridge. Peter fiddles with his fingers as MJ looks over his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something, too,” Peter rushes to say, trying to get it out before she says something that she might regret after he says what he’s got to say. 

“I’m gay,” he says, just as she blurts, “Are you Spider-Man?”

They both stand there, blinking.

“Uh, what? No?” Peter scoffs, internally panicking. He can feel his face getting redder by the second. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_. “I’m not Spider-Man, no way.”

“Yes, you are,” MJ insists. “By the way, thanks for telling me that you’re gay; it means a lot that you would tell me that. But like, you are totally Spider-Man.”

“Why would you think that?” Peter yelps.

“At the Washington Monument? You totally disappear and suddenly Spider-Man is there to save the day? And then you ghosted Liz at homecoming and like an hour later the whole thing with her dad and the Stark plane and Spider-Man went down. And like, there was that masked guy in Venice that had suspiciously Spider-Man like powers and you, again, mysteriously disappeared. And tonight, I totally followed you, you were helping that Mysterio dude fight that big lava guy. You’re Spider-Man.”

“What?” Peter’s grasping at straws here. _Damn MJ, stop being so smart and observant!_ “That was uuuuuh- Night Monkey! They said on the news! And the news never lies!”

MJ swings her backpack around, unzipping it and pulling something made of metal out. “Does Night Monkey use the same webs?”

 _Oooh fuck_. The thing is wrapped in Peter’s webs. “I mean, he could? Are they even the same webs? How would I know, I’m not Spider-Man! And he could be like, a Spider Monkey!”

“Peter, come on...” MJ groans, shaking the thing in her hands in frustration. It suddenly lights up and she drops it in surprise. Both she and Peter jump back as a grey cloudy mass with a face materializes out of nowhere between them, a misty, angry hand swiping out, it’s face growling soundlessly. As suddenly as it started, it stops, leaving MJ and Peter standing on the bridge, mouths hanging open.

“What was that?!” MJ yelps, spinning around wildly. 

“I don’t know!” Peter squeaks, looking down at the metal contraption lying on the ground where MJ had dropped it. He picks it up, examining it. 

“Some kind of projector?” MJ asks, stepping closer.

“Something like that, but it’s super advanced,” Peter frowns, turning it over in his hands. “Wait, the elementals, they’re _fake?_ That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Who would do that?” MJ asks. 

The projector bursts back to life. The storm elemental appears again, huge and angry, a roiling grey mass full of lightning. A green costumed, purple caped man swoops around it, blasting it with bright green light.

Peter suddenly feels sick – really, really sick. All the blood drains from his face, and his stomach plummets. He takes a shaky step back as he loses his balance, and the ache in his lower back, between his thighs, is suddenly too much to bear. He drops the projector, spins on his heel, and leans over the side of the bridge, gasping for breath. He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

“Oh my god, Peter, are you okay?” MJ rushes to his side as Peter sinks down to his knees, putting his face in his hands as he starts to cry. 

“No,” he gasps. “No. MJ, I really, really fucked up.”

-

“Peter, I’m so sorry,” MJ says, her face horrified as she slowly pats his back. They’re sitting on Peter’s bed in his hotel room, and Peter feels like the world is coming down around his ears as he tells her everything.

“I can’t believe I was so _stupid_ ,” Peter gasps, wiping angrily at his face. He feels like an idiot. He feels like a _child_. He feels dirty, and used. 

“It’s not your fault,” MJ says, and she says it like she really believes it. “Peter, what he did to you, that’s statutory rape. He took _advantage_ of you. He’s an adult, and you’re _sixteen_. He should go to jail!”

“He didn’t take advantage of me!” Peter almost yells. “I let him! I wanted him to! I _trusted him._ It’s _my_ fault, and I gave him the glasses, and I can’t believe I was so, just, fucking _naive_. Fuck, Fury was right; I really wasn’t ready for this,” he laughs a little, brokenly. 

“Peter,” MJ whispers, but Peter can’t take the pity anymore. He abruptly stands, grabbing his pack and unzipping it. He pulls out his stealth suit and starts to strip.

“I have to warn Fury that he’s not what we think he is,” he sniffs, yanking his shirt off. MJ stifles a gasp behind her hands as the marks and bruises that Beck had bitten and pressed into his skin are revealed. Peter presses his eyes shut tight against the sight of them, feeling sick again. 

He’s already in the suit and half out the window when Ned opens the door. Peter freezes as Ned glances between him and MJ.

“She knows,” he blurts, “and I really have to go, MJ can explain, but don’t– please don’t tell him,” he begs her.

Ned makes a confused, panicked noise. “She knows? Don’t tell me what?”

“I won’t,” MJ promises, and her eyes are wide and a little wet. Ned starts to protest but Peter interrupts him. 

“Can you cover for me? Call May and tell her to call Mr Harrington to tell him she wants me to stay with some relatives here or something,” he says. “I really have to go, Ned, _Ned_ , will you?”

“I will, I will!” Ned promises, and Peter is out the window and gone.

-

Peter hitches a ride to Berlin on the back of a train. He stays crouched down behind a part of a carriage roof and out of the wind, arms around his middle and shivering.

It’s not cold, but he’s freezing. He thinks he might be a little in shock, or something. He feels nauseous and lightheaded. He feels like he needs a burning hot shower or bath, to put his head under water and _scream._ He doesn’t feel like he can ever be clean again. He can’t believe he trusted Beck, with his body or with Mr. Stark’s glasses. He can’t believe he gave Beck his first kiss, his _virginity._ He can’t believe that he gave Beck control of an orbiting defence system capable of killing anyone at a single word; he can’t believe that he’d let down the memory of Mr. Stark so badly. 

Peter’s almost sick again, but there’s nothing in his stomach to throw up. He just hunches down further out of the wind, squeezes his eyes shut, and hates himself fiercely.

-

“He’s here,” Peter breathes, hearing the drones buzzing at the edges of his senses. 

“What-” Fury starts and Agent Hill falls away in bright blue pixels. “Hill-” he exclaims, and then he’s blasted backwards into a wall, a hole in his chest.

Peter spins around as the glass and chrome of the building around him melts away into brick and rubble and ruin. He takes a step forward and yells as he’s thrown backwards with concussive force, and he falls down, down, into black. 

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” Beck’s voice booms out around him, laughing. Peter scrambles up to his feet, gasping in pain as his ribs and hips protest from his landing. Where is he, what is this? He can’t see anything.

“Beck!” He yells, voice breaking, and he’s thrown backwards again into a dizzying, reality contorting illusion that renders every sense Peter has useless. He’s never been more terrified in his life. 

And when he’s lying on his back and Beck is advancing on him and a shot rings out, the illusion shattering and Beck falling, Peter doesn’t have a second to regain his bearings again before Fury is yelling in his face.

“Who. Did. You. Tell?” He demands, and Peter hears words drop from his mouth that he hardly comprehends. Then Fury is laughing, and then he’s not Fury at all, but Beck, _Mysterio_ ; Peter’s crying in his mask as he stumbles backwards, reality bending around him to Mysterio’s will.

“You’re so gullible,” Mysterio laughs. “So willing to trust, so young. It’s such a shame, really, Fury always had to die, but you! You were so sweet; I was going to keep you as long as I could, like a pretty pet, so eager to please.”

Peter trips over something, sobbing. He falls backwards but manages to catch himself at the last second. 

“Such a shame,” Mysterio repeats. “I can see why Stark liked you so much. You looked so lovely under me, squirming on my cock, begging for more.”

Peter just wants to _die._

“All well,” Mysterio sighs, and the train comes roaring through.

-

Curled up in a seat, the train rattling around him, Peter coughs blood wetly down his front. He leans his head back, tears tracking down the dirt on his cheeks.

He hurts. He just _hurts_. 

His eyes close, and he falls blissfully away.

-

“Happy,” Peter gasps, limping forward through the tulip field. “Happy, I’m so glad to see you.” He’s tearing up again.

Happy’s face falls at the sight of him, at the blood and dirt and tears and the sallowness of Peter’s skin. “Peter, kid, what happened?”

And Peter falls forward, into Happy’s warm embrace. “I fucked up really bad,” he whispers, fingers clutching at the back of Happy’s suit. “Really, really badly. Please don’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” Happy says, his voice strained with concern. “What happened?”

Peter just shakes in Happy’s arms.

-

“I’m going to kill him,” Happy says as he stitches up Peter’s back with steady hands. He’s never sounded more serious. “I’m going to smash in his smug, stupid face with his ridiculous fishbowl. I’m gonna – I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Peter doesn’t think he ever could’ve imagined Happy say those words. “Happy,” he says, shakily. He flinches as the needle pierces his skin again, but the pain comes from far away. He’s almost numb.

Happy finishes stitching him up. He places a hand over Peter’s shoulder as Peter’s face drips tears. “I promised Tony I was going to keep you safe,” he says, sounding like he’s about to choke. 

“It’s fine,” Peter sniffs. “It’s not your fault, Happy. It’s mine.”

-

Peter falls through the London sky, the wind screaming past his ears as he dives head first into the illusion storm. His face is resigned behind his newly made mask.

He’s going to save his friends.

He’s going to finish this.

-

Mysterio stands in front of him, flanked by drones. Peter is bloodied and tired, his body sore and mind exhausted, but he stands tall.

“You can’t stop me,” Mysterio growls, and the drones fly forward. Darkness seeps around him and Peter closes his eyes, breathes out.

Concentrates.

His eyes snap open, everything making sense around him. He smashes through the drones, and the illusion breaks bit by bit, shattering with every broken piece of high tech hardware. 

A breathy cry makes him hesitate before swinging a drone into the floor. The drone breaks free and throws him back with a shockwave and Peter goes crashing into the floor. He gets up onto his elbows, eyes huge as he takes in the illusion next to him.

It’s himself. His head is thrown back and he’s naked, body stretched out across white sheets. His legs are spread and Beck is between them, hips moving. Peter’s own voice cries out from the illusion, begging Beck to go harder.

Peter feels like a black hole has opened up in his chest and swallowed everything. 

“That’s all you’re good for, little Peter,” Mysterio’s voice booms out. “Did you think that you could get the best of me? When you’ve already given me everything of you?”

Peter looks away, squeezing his eyes shut. “Stop it!” He shouts, springing up, but his own cries of pleasure rings in his ears. “Stop it!” His voice breaks.

He loses concentration. A drone comes out of nowhere, slams him sideways into the metal struts of the walkway. Peter braces himself against it and pushes away, yelling, trying to web the drone out of the air, but it’s gone, swallowed up by a sudden silent endless black.

“ _No_ ,” Peter pants.

A light blinks on, illuminating two bodies on the floor. It’s Mysterio in full costume, holding a naked Peter down on all fours, fucking him from behind. The illusion of himself looks directly into Peter’s face, it’s expression contorted with pleasure.

It’s mouth opens, but it isn't a moan that falls out of it's kiss swollen lips. “You think you’re a hero?” His own voice says. “You’re nothing but a sad little boy, wanting someone to love you so desperately that you’d let them do this to you.”

Peter _screams_ , diving forward, but the image turns to mist. He spins around, sobbing in his mask.

“Did you let Stark do this to you?” Another illusion of himself says, and it’s face is being grabbed and turned by red, metal hands, Mr. Stark diving forward and ravaging his mouth. Peter feels _sick._

“Stop it!” He cries, “just– stop it!”

“That’s not what you said before,” another illusion of himself says. “ _Please_ ,” it gasps, “ _Beck, more._ ” This time he’s on all fours again, but there are two Mysterios, using him from both ends, his own strangled, gurgling sounds filling the air. Another version of himself, head between Mysterio’s thighs, and then another, in a moment of ecstasy, kneeling at Mysterio’s feet. “ _I really like you_ ,” his voice says, his face an illusion of worship at he gazes up at Mysterio above him.

“Stop it,” Peter whispers. “Please.”

“That’s more like it,” a voice says softly next to his ear. Hands grabs at his hips and Peter sobs. “Just give up, baby,” Mysterio croons. “Give it up. This is all you are, something pretty to be used by men more powerful than you, better than you.”

That makes Peter _angry_ down to his bones. “Fuck you,” he spits, throwing an elbow back. It connects, and there’s a cry of pain as Peter spins, but Mysterio is gone, replaced by blackness. Suddenly, there are writhing bodies all around him, his own cries ringing out, hundreds of Mysterio’s using hundreds of his body in every single way conceivable.

Peter closes his eyes, shuts it all out. Breathes in deep, reaches down, and uses all his anger, all his hurt, to sharpen his senses. 

He starts to destroy the last of the drones. Mysterio screams at them to fire even as he’s within firing range, and as Peter disintegrates the last drone under his fist, he hears Mysterio groaning in pain behind him, caught in the chest by a misfiring drone. 

Peter turns, breathing hard, and yanks his mask from his face. Limps up next to Mysterio’s body and looks down at him, at the wounded man in a ridiculous green suit who is staring up at him through Mr. Stark’s glasses.

“I trusted you,” he accuses. “You broke my heart,” he adds, his voice breaking on the last word.

Mysterio laughs, coughing up blood. “And that’s the worst thing!” He gasps, “Because even when I wasn’t fucking you, the way you looked at me, with your big brown eyes, almost made me feel like I was doing something wrong. You’re so good, Peter, and so trusting, always wanting to believe in the best of people, that maybe you do deserve these fucking glasses.”

He holds them out with a shaking, bloody hand. “You know, I really did like you, Peter–”

A shot rings out, but Peter’s already got his hand out to the side, shoving Mysterio’s hand with the gun up and away so the bullet goes wide. Peter turns to the real Mysterio, tears tracking silently down his face as the illusion on the floor fades away.

“You’re disgusting,” he says as Mysterio collapses.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who let me fuck you. Twice,” he laughs breathlessly. The bullet wounds in his chest seep blood down onto the floor. Peter leans down and plucks the glasses from his face, slips them on to his, and commands the rest of the drones to stop.

“The thing is though, everybody believed me,” Mysterio gasps, his body twitching on the floor. He's smiling, like he's won. “Everybody believes what they see, lately.” 

He goes still.

Peter lifts his hands to his face, touching the rim of Mr Stark’s glasses. “E.D.I.T.H.?”

“ _Yes, Peter?_ ”

“Is this real?” He whispers, staring down at Mysterio’s body.

“ _No illusions are currently active._ ” E.D.I.T.H. says, and Peter lowers his hand. He turns away from the body.

He doesn’t feel anything. He just feels hollow.

-

Hugging May outside the airport makes things start to feel a little better. He buries his face in her hair, smelling the familiar scent of her shampoo, and a couple tears leak out.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, holding him. “Happy told me what happened. Come on, let's get you home; we can watch bad movies and drink hot chocolate with too many marshmallows, yeah?”

Peter draws back, sniffing, wiping his face on his sleeve. He nods, hiccuping. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I would like that.”

-

Seeing Mysterio’s face appear on the huge screen on the side of the building makes Peter queasy again. He grips the lamp post under him so tightly the metal groans under his fingers, crumpling. 

When his voice rings out, “ _Execute them all_ ,” he squeezes his eyes shut, almost dizzy with anger. _Of course_ , he thinks, _even dead, he’s gonna fuck me over, that_ **_asshole_**. _Was breaking my heart and trying to kill my friends not enough for you?_

And then his face, his _real_ face, is up on the screen, and Peter’s whole world comes apart.

The crowd underneath him starts to yell, pointing up at him. Peter hears them through the ringing in his ears, the shouting sounding like it’s coming through water. He shoots out a web and swings away, finding his way up onto a quiet, empty rooftop so he can crouch down and try to calm his breathing.

The blackness around the sides of his vision start receding and he leans his head back against the wall behind him, the coldness of the brick a relief against the hot sweat he’d broken out into. 

His phone buzzes at his hip. He fumbles it out, yanking his mask off and peering into the screen with red-rimmed eyes. He has an onslaught of texts from Ned, MJ, Happy, and as he blinks down at them his phone vibrates with a call from May. 

He doesn’t want to talk to them. The pity he always hears in their voices makes him feel like shit constantly. He doesn’t– fuck he doesn’t know what to do. 

_What the fuck is he going to do?_

Peter throws his phone. It sails across the roof but doesn’t shatter. Peter blinks, looking up through angry tears. There’s someone else on the roof with him, tall and built, suited up in a black and red costume, katanas at his back. He’s holding Peter’s phone in his hand, a smile wide under his mask.

“Hey, free phone! Thanks!” 

“Wade,” Peter breathes out. The mercenary is finally back from his mission in China.

“Wooahh-shit,” Wade yelps, throwing a hand over his eyes. “Mask! Mask!”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Peter says numbly. “Everyone knows who I am now.”

Wade’s big, broad shoulders fall in his suit. “Webs,” he says, “non-consensual unmasking is so not cool. But I swear, I didn’t look, and I covered my ears as well and went LA-LA-LA-LA as loud as I could, so I totally didn’t hear what Donnie Darko said. So like, your identity, completely still a secret to me. Cross my heart and hope to die a hundred thousand times by stepping on teeny tiny legos.”

Those damn tears spill over, and Peter wipes at his face, sniffing. His heart hurts, but for the first time in a while, it hurts for a good reason. “Wade,” he hiccups. “I really, _really,_ missed you.”

“Baby boy, you’re breaking my heart here,” Wade says softly. He tries to walk forward, towards where Peter’s sitting huddled up against a wall, but his hand is still over his eyes and he ends up almost tipping over the edge of the roof. Peter yelps, diving forward and catching him with a web to the back before he goes over.

“Phew, that was close,” Wade laughs, regaining his footing. “Don’t get me wrong, sweetcheeks, I love me some pancakes, but not enough to actually _be_ one, ya feel?”

“Uh huh,” Peter smiles through his tears. “I feel ya.”

Wade manages to find his way to where Peter is sitting without any further mishaps. He feels his way down the wall, eyes still covered, and sinks down next to Peter.

“I found this phone, by the way. Weird thing happened, it just came flying right at me! So, was wondering if you needed one,” he says, holding Peter’s phone out in his general direction. Peter takes it and switches it on to silent, slipping it into a hidden pocket in his suit.

“Thanks, DP,” he croaks. “You don’t have to keep your eyes covered. You can look at me.” There’s something nice about choosing for Wade to know who he is, and not having Wade find out by that asshole. This is one thing Mysterio won’t be able to take from him. 

“You sure, honeybuns?” Wade asks, carefully.

“Yeah,” Peter sighs. “I’m sure.”

“Like, completely? One hundred percent? Absolutamente?”

“Wade,” Peter mutters, his lips quirking up at the sides.

Wade peeks through his fingers at him, then drops his hand into his lap. For a second all he does is look at Peter through his mask, and then he pulls his own one off as well, so Peter can see the expression of awe on his scarred face.

“Hey there,” Wade breathes out. “Aren’t you a pretty sight, hm?”

Peter rolls his eyes, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his suit. “Hardly,” he scoffs, starting to rub at his red, wet eyes. He knows he looks like a mess when he cries. 

Fingers gently wrap around his wrists and pull his hands away from his face. “Baby boy,” Wade says quietly, running a thumb over Peter’s cheek, catching a stray tear. He doesn’t say that everything is going to be alright, or that Peter should stop crying, or flounder around not knowing what to do or how to make Peter feel better. He just wraps a big, warm arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulls him close to his side, so Peter can curl up in the comfort of him, bury his face into his shoulder and block out the world.

“Wanna talk about it?” Wade asks quietly.

“Not really, no,” Peter says, voice muffled in the leather of Wade’s suit. 

“‘Kay.” Fingers run through his hair, scratch gently over his scalp. Peter feels himself slowly relax, his fingers uncurling from the tight hold he has on the straps on the sides of Wade's suit that hold his katanas. 

“It’s getting cold, honey,” Wade says, after a while.

Peter stirs, blinking blearily. “Peter,” he murmurs, “my name is Peter.”

“Peter.” Wade says his name like it’s something precious, carefully rolling the sounds around in his mouth. “We should find somewhere warm before you turn into a spider-cicle.”

Peter tightens his hold on the straps of Wade’s suit. “Don’t wanna go home.”

Wade hums, squeezing him gently. “Wanna come back to mine? No one will bother you there. And you can crash as long as you want.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, tiredly. “I would... I would really like that. Thanks, ‘Pool.”

“No problemo,” Wade chirps. 

~

Wade cooks them nachos while Peter curls up in a blanket on his couch. He’s already given Peter a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows, and Peter still feels numb as he sits there staring into the dark brown swirls of it.

“Not chocolatey enough for the spider-babe?” Wade asks quietly as he takes a seat next to Peter, two plates heaped full of corn chips and beans and cheese in his hands. 

Peter shakes his head and quickly takes a sip. The rich sweetness runs over his tongue and warms his stomach, and for some reason he feels a little bit better. “No; it’s great, DP. Thanks.”

Wade hums happily and hands Peter his plate. “No jalapeños this time, I swear on your juicy booty.”

Peter laughs a little, and the line of Wade’s shoulders relax just a bit at the sound. Peter takes his plate and scoops up a chip full of cheese, nibbling on it. He’s not that hungry – his stomach is still in knots – but Wade made an effort, and his nachos _are_ the best. 

Wade sits back and pulls up his mask to his nose, stuffing a handful of food right into his mouth. Peter’s used to his reddened, twisted skin and his awful table ( _couch?)_ manners, and the familiarity of it makes him settle a bit more, his body relaxing into the blanket wrapped around him. He nibbles on another corn chip.

They watch Hot Fuzz for like the fifth time on Wade’s huge 120 inch TV. Peter doesn’t feel hungry, but he ends up eating his entire plate anyway. Wade finishes his within the first five minutes of the movie, getting up for a toilet break halfway through and coming back with buttered popcorn and another hot chocolate for Peter. 

It’s nice to be doted on. May and his friends have been careful around him after the whole Europe debacle, and even though they don’t know the full story of him and Mysterio (except for MJ), they know the gist of it. But they’ve almost been pitying, and even though he knows it’s coming from a good place, Peter can’t stand the look in their eyes. Wade, though… Wade doesn’t look at him like he’s fragile and sad; he looks at him the same as always, and treats him the same as always. Wade has always been so good to him. 

And Peter had to go and do _that_ when something had been growing between them. Wade doesn’t know what happened, but Peter knows, and, god, everything is a mess; he feels like he betrayed Wade for someone who wasn’t even a good person. He’s besmirched Mr. Stark’s memory, and Peter’s identity is out, and everything is just – everything is just _wrong_ , and it’s all Peter’s fault.

“Petey-pie?” Wade asks quietly. “These credits aren’t exactly a tear jerker.”

Sniffing, Peter rubs his arm over his eyes roughly, hiccuping. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologises, “I’m sorry.”

A heavy arm wraps around his shoulder, pulls him into a body that smells of gun oil and leather and hot sauce and comfort. Peter goes willingly, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

“Don’t be sorry, gorgeous,” Wade whispers into his hair. Peter shakes his head, his hands braced against the firmness of Wade’s chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter sobs, “I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t know if he’s saying sorry to Wade, Mr Stark, or to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> ;-;
> 
> I’ve been meaning to write some comfort to go with this hurt but haven’t found the motivation for it, so I’m leaving this as complete. But Wade would definitely help with setting Peter straight with the fact that Peter didn’t do anything wrong at all. And give him lots of hugs. And reassurance and love <3


End file.
